Speak of the Devil
by Revriley
Summary: Lebreau takes an interest in Miria. Set in 1935. (Accidentally have gone a wee bit against canon here, apologies. The February 1935 timeline in the novels is thoroughly mucked).


The day after the attack on the clinic found Miria and Isaac on the clinic's doorstep bright and early, hands on their hips and identical bright grins reflected in the glass in front of them. Through the door's window, Miria spotted Who entering the lobby through the door leading to the clinic, steaming cup in hand. He sat down behind the reception desk, looked up, and met Miria's gaze.

She beamed.

Who stared at her, bleary-eyed.

She beamed even _brighter_.

He went back to his cup.

"Hey Isaac, Who's here already!"

" _We_ are, Miria, my dear!"

"I know _that_ , Isaac, but Who's here too!"

"Well… Lebreau, of course! He's the dedicated sort of fellow – a real public citizen at heart who shows up for work four hours early every day. Even on Sundays! I'm sure of it!"

"A public servant! For the city to grow, count on Lebreau!"

"If morale's low, go to Lebreau, Joe!"

"Lebreau's no schmoe, he's in the know!"

"That's right, Miria!"

"…"

"…"

"Al _though_ , Isaac…aren't you forgetting someone?"

"Who would that be, Miria?"

"Who's who, Isaac!"

"Who's…?" Isaac drew his great bushy eyebrows together, learning forward to stare through the window – Who had evidently drained his cup and now drifted toward the front door like a cloud across the sky, yawning up a storm. "Who! Who's Who!"

"Who _is_ Who!" Miria exclaimed, and she and Isaac quickly shared a solemn look and nod between the two of them before reverting to grins just as Who opened the door.

"I didn't expect to see you two here today, what with everything that happened yesterday," Who mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I guess I _did_ expect to see you two…just not this early. Isaac, shouldn't you be taking the day off? You hurt your wrist taking a blow for me and Lebreau, and how're you supposed to lift stuff with a hurt wrist, I ask you? And I still feel guilty over it too…"

"Nonsense!" cried Isaac, shoving his sleeve upward and sticking his right wrist out for Who's inspection. "I'm right as rain! Doesn't hurt one bit – we Isaacs are made of strong stuff, after all. Why, you can't even see a bruise."

Who squinted at Isaac's outstretched arm and took Isaac's wrist in his hands, gently examining it with a practiced eye. "Huh. You're right – no sprain, no bruise…nothing."

Isaac puffed out his chest and jabbed his thumb at it. "See? Fit as a fiddle! Now, what sturdy stock are we transporting today?"

"Yeah, what's the hook-up? What's the buzz?"

"Er…actually, there's some new shipments for the clinic that we need to _unload_ first." Who pointed over at the parked truck Isaac and Miria had passed by on their way to the clinic. Its back was open, and Miria could see several boxes stacked up inside it. "I dunno how heavy they are, Miria, so maybe either Lebreau or myself should take your place for this one – and speak of the devil, here he is now."

Miria whirled around to greet Lebreau, who stepped neatly around the various strewn remains of the automobile Graham had dismantled the night before with an embarrassed smile plastered across his face. He gave them all an apologetic nod once he joined them. "It seems that I'm the late one, today…my apologies." To Who, he said, "Please know that this isn't like me at all – it's just…after what happened…"

Perturbed, Who reached out to pat Lebreau reassuringly on the shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous. After yesterday, we _all_ needed a good night's rest…come to think of it, you're not even late – _we_ were all early."

"That's right, buster!" Isaac enthused, clapping his hand down on Lebreau's other shoulder. "These things happen!"

"These things happen!" Miria echoed; she took Lebreau's hand and squeezed it, peering upward in search of his eyes – but of course, they were as ever hidden by his bangs. Lebreau squeezed her hand back, bowing his head for a few moments. When he looked up again, his smile was soft, and Miria was struck with the realization that it was for her and her alone.

"Thank you," he said, gently brushing his thumb over Miria's own, "Between the attack and my father… Well, I'll manage somehow."

"Your father?" whispered Miria, concern singing through her veins like ice water.

Lebreau hesitated, and then sighed. "He's been a little poorly, the past few weeks. We hoped Florida's warm climate would do him some good, but…" His breath hitched, and he turned his face away to compose himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to see me like this." He had turned his face to the truck with the movement, and upon spotting it, said, "Oh…is this the shipment you told me about, Who?"

"That's right," Who said, looking deeply uncomfortable. "We were just talking about unloading it before you arrived."

"Well!" said Lebreau, his voice falsely bright, "Let's get to it then, shall we? I'm sure Isaac and Miria will need the truck for some deliveries later on, after all…"

He strode over to the truck and Isaac hurried after him. Miria and Who shared a worried glance between them and hastily followed.

"Wait," warned Who, as Lebreau and Isaac each took an end of a large, elongated crate and dragged it off the edge of the trailer. "I don't—"

Lebreau hissed and dropped his end of the box, wrapping his right arm around his stomach while Isaac yelped and tried to not do the same. "Ah…it seems that my stomach is still a little sore…" Lebreau said, wincing as he straightened. Miria winced sympathetically in turn, vividly recalling the punch that had sent Lebreau sprawling to the ground the day before.

Who gawped at him. "Why didn't you say something earlier?" He shook his head, and snapped, "For a medical practitioner, you should know better. Isaac and I will handle the unloading – you just go inside and take it easy, understand? I already did the morning rounds, so you don't need to worry about that either."

His tone brooked no argument. While Lebreau bent over to speak with Isaac – perhaps apologizing for the fumble – Miria peered up at Who and asked, "What about me?"

Who shrugged, casting a rather dubious look over at the crates. "Are you sure you can lift them? And…uh, I guess it wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to let a lady do the heavy lifting." He flinched, mumbling, "Leila would've chewed me out for saying that..." He trailed off, clearly conflicted – and clearly caught up in some past memory, his gaze unfocused and far away.

"Miria's stronger than anything!" piped Isaac, who'd lowered his end of the crate to the ground and now sat atop it. "And don't you forget it!"

"If I may…" Lebreau moved around the crate and came to stop in front of Who and Miria. "This might sound a little selfish, but I would be delighted if Miria kept me company. After all – no, no, I'm being too presumptuous. I shouldn't—"

"Of course I will!" Miria said, nipping Lebreau's self-deprecation in the bud. "We'd feel terrible if you were all alone, wouldn't we, Isaac?"

Isaac shot to his feet. "Of course we would!" he parroted. "Nobody should be all alone!"

Lebreau turned to Who, seeking his approval. Some of the tension drained from Who's face. "Sounds good to me," he said, almost _too_ quickly. "You can prep the inventory ledger if you're so keen on helping out – we'll need to update it once we unpack the crates. Leave the front door open so Isaac and I can drop off the boxes inside."

"Well then," Lebreau said, giving Miria a warm smile. "Shall we?"

Miria smiled back, matching his warmth, and the two of them entered the clinic – stopping briefly so that Lebreau could prop the door open with one of the metal automobile appendages lying on the ground. Lebreau insisted that Miria make herself comfortable behind the reception desk while he fixed them both a cup of tea, disappearing into the clinic for the kettle in the small break room. It was only a matter of two or three minutes before he returned with a cup in either hand, offering her the one in his left as he settled in the chair next to her.

She took the cup gratefully, only to flinch and nearly drop it, not expecting the ceramic to be as hot as it was considering that Lebreau had held the cup with the tips of his fingers around its rim.

Lebreau leaned forward in his seat, his voice pained. "Oh dear – I'm so sorry, I should have warned you."

"It's okay," Miria replied, placing the cup on one of the desk's coasters, "I should have expected it."

"Still." Lebreau shook his head and sunk back into his chair, busying himself with his tea. Once he lowered his cup, he raised his head and opened his mouth – and then he looked down again with a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I… I must admit, I didn't expect you to actually accompany me inside – I don't know where to begin."

"Why would you think that?" Miria asked, honestly perplexed.

"It's just that… Forgive me, but you and Isaac seem to be attached at the hip." At Miria's quizzical glance, Lebreau's cheeks reddened and he stumbled over his next words. "Er, well – I know we only met yesterday, but it's hard to imagine one of you without the other. I'd thought you wouldn't want to leave Isaac's side."

"We're always together," Miria agreed, earnestly, "I don't want to leave Isaac's side, not ever." Lebreau was silent; thinking her reply lacking, Miria scrambled to explain herself. "But this is fine, you and me! As long as Isaac knows where I am, and I know where he is – as long as we _want_ to be alone, and as long as there's a way for us to reunite, then it's okay!"

Lebreau traced the rim of his cup with his index finger. "My goodness…that's quite something. I shudder to think of what would happen if you were ever separated against your will."

Miria's smile vanished. So did Lebreau's. "Oh, no" he breathed, reaching out for her, hand hovering over hers, "No, don't tell me…"

Now it was Miria's turn to calm herself down; she snatched her cup off the desk and took a long sip of tea as Lebreau had earlier, heedless of the heat. Her chest ached the way it had all through November and December; it ached the way it had when she cried for days on end and when she hadn't cried but felt like crying anyway. Blinking away tears, she set the cup down again and managed a watery smile at her companion.

"It was, um," her breath hitched, and she continued, "A few months ago. Isaac was sent to p-prison, somewhere really far away on the other side of the country. And I couldn't visit him because I didn't know where he was, so I couldn't even – I couldn't even call him, and—and—I missed his voice so _much_ —!" She sniffed, and took a deep, controlled breath before she could burst into tears. Another one. A third.

Lebreau's hands were shaking more than Miria's own when he covered them, but she was grateful for his kindness regardless. "I had no idea," he whispered, distraught. "I never intended to dredge up bad memories – that must have been awful for you both. I shouldn't have said anything."

Miria bit her lip. "No, it's – it's fine. It's all over now." She nodded to herself, the ache fading. "What's past is past, you know? At least, that's what Isaac says. Isaac—Isaac always looks to the future, and he makes sure that _I'm_ looking to the future too and I love him for it. When I'm with him – when I'm with him I don't have the time to look back."

Unpleasant memories whispered at her at the back of her mind – old, familiar ghosts that never truly went away no matter how much she tried, and she shuddered, heart beating faster in her chest.

"Look back?" Lebreau prompted.

His hands weren't trembling anymore.

Miria's _were_.

"Isaac saved me," she managed, the ache having returned with a sharp vengeance. "I—I don't want to talk about it."

"What would have happened," Lebreau murmured, "if he _hadn't_?"

Miria couldn't breathe. Lebreau tugged on her hands, demanding her attention; she stared helplessly at Lebreau's face and found that she couldn't look away. "Without him…" he said, "…What would you do?"

 _Rejection_.

She wrenched her hands out of his grasp, unseeing, unthinking, her horror all at once overcome by a wretched hollow numbness. Someone said _"No,"_ – and again, _"No no no"_ and she realized, distantly, that it was _her._

There was a thud from somewhere behind her – somewhere far away, somewhere she could never hope to reach, somewhere forever closed off from her –

"Halfway done! Whew, these _are_ pretty heavy…"

"Isaac," she sobbed, knocking over her chair, nearly knocking over her forgotten cup too as she practically flew to him, latching on to his arm as soon as she made contact. His arm, warm and sturdy and _real_ and _reachable_ , and she took his hand and dragged him outside, past Who and the crates.

Isaac placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes wide. "Miria! What's wrong?"

Near frantic, Miria shook her head and buried her face into his chest, wrapping her arms around his torso. Isaac returned her embrace without hesitation, and she screwed her eyes shut and listened to his heartbeat, felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. Her breathing slowed in time with it, and she pulled back slightly once she felt more at ease. "Isaac," she said, biting her lip at the question she was about to ask, "Is Lebreau a bad person?"

Startled – and somewhat distressed – Isaac looked down at her, his expression clouding. "Is he the reason you're so sad?" Miria hesitated, and regretted her hesitation at once when Isaac drew his eyebrows together, his arms tensing over her back. "But why would he…?"

"It doesn't matter," Miria pleaded. "Just – just talk. I want to hear you talk."

Perhaps sensing her desperation, Isaac relaxed a little – but drew his arms about her more tightly. "Well – if he _did_ hurt you, then…that's a bad deed, no matter what. But…" He trailed off uncertainly, but continued after a moment's silence. "But – but he's done a lot of good deeds, hasn't he? Lots and lots of them! He looks after of Doctor lots patients and makes them feel better – I bet he took care of lots and lots of people before working here! So – so even if he does do one bad deed now and then, it doesn't change the fact that he has to be a good person!"

Miria nodded eagerly, her heart rate returning to normal as she clung to Isaac's every word. Isaac always had the answers – she'd somehow forgotten that Lebreau was a doctor, someone who'd taken the Hippocratic oath to do no harm, to heal others. He _had_ done a lot of good – in fact, working under Doctor Fred meant he was _still_ doing good deeds on a daily basis – something that both herself and Isaac still struggled to achieve.

"But I can't just stand by when you've been made upset…I can't just forgive it, can I…?" Isaac mused, and she seized his doctor's coat to stop him from going back inside the clinic.

"No, no, please don't," she said. "You're right, he _is_ a good person. I – I overreacted. I'm sure he didn't even mean to hurt me."

Isaac frowned at her, and then raised his head to look at something behind her. She turned around, shifting in Isaac's arms – and found Lebreau standing a few feet away from them. Tea stained his right sleeve, but he hardly seemed to care as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "I cannot apologize enough," he began, his tone bordering on the overwrought. "I asked some questions which I now realize were wholly intrusive. Once again, I went too far and I hurt you in my curiosity. I – I can't expect you to forgive me."

The self-loathing in his voice set Miria's eyes stinging, and she rubbed at her eyes with the palm of her hand. "Your sleeve…it's ruined."

"When you ran, I leapt to my feet to call after you… in my haste to follow, I knocked over my tea," Lebreau confessed, fingering his still damp sleeve. Miria got the feeling that he wasn't meeting her eyes. "It's far less than I deserve."

"Don't be silly," Miria said, hushed. "They were only questions. …I'm sorry I ran away."

Lebreau still wouldn't raise his head. She took a deep breath. "I forgive you, Lebreau."

Finally, he lifted his head in her direction, his mouth twisting bitterly. "And _that_ ," he said, "Is far _more_ than I deserve."

He turned away, heading back for the clinic's entrance with hunched shoulders.

 _It can't end like this._ "Lebreau!" Miria cried, leaning forward, Isaac's arms supporting her, "Let's talk again, okay?"

He stopped just shy of the open door and turned his head ever so slightly to the left, his hair hanging over his shoulder and obscuring his face. Lebreau brought his hand upward again, and when he turned to fully face them Miria found that he'd used it to cover his mouth to compose himself. He removed it after a second, revealing a wan smile.

"Let's," Lebreau replied, and he turned and disappeared into the clinic without saying another word.

Miria and Isaac remained rooted to the spot, Isaac's arms still draped around Miria's shoulders and arms. She would have liked to stay there like that forever, but with great effort she gently took Isaac's arms and pushed at them so that he would let her go.

"Miria—"

"Thanks, Isaac," she said, deliberately cutting him off. "I feel a lot better now. You and Who probably need to get back to work, so I'd better leave you two to it, huh?" At the deeply troubled expression on Isaac's face, she took his right hand and placed it over her heart so that he could feel its slow, steady beat. "I really do feel better," she insisted. "And I'll be right inside the clinic just like before. And I'll – I'll open the blinds so we can see each other through the window!"

He nodded, but didn't move. Miria darted behind him and shoved him toward Who with a laugh bubbling in her throat. "Go on, get!"

Alone once more, Miria smiled at her reflection in the window to steel herself. She really _had_ overreacted earlier, and she was sorry for it, and she wanted nothing more than to make it up to Lebreau.

Still smiling, she marched back into the clinic with her head held high, and newfound resolve in her heart.

"Lebreau, I'm back!"

* * *

 **Guess who's still afraid of writing Fermet? Hint: it's me.**

 **There were a few lines I wanted to write in which Miria remarks on his long name and pretends that she's a French aristocrat - aka "Maria Antoinette" except she doesn't understand why she's saying "Miria Antoinette" instead - and then I got flustered over the rule about false names and talked myself out of it.**


End file.
